Sitting there beside the window,
She looks out, filled with sorrow.
No one came to visit today.
In fact, no one comes on any day.
Under the table, at her seat,
Can be seen her year-wearied feet.
No one eating in the other chair.
No one seen anywhere.
By herself, she sits alone,
Longing for someone, anyone, to come home.
All alone she sits and stares
At the many empty chairs.
Her children say they'll come next week,
And every time for them she'll seek.
All she finds is a letter short
Of the hurried and forgetful sort.
No one seems to care at all
For this woman once proud and tall.
One of many things to her known,
God is with her, she's not alone.